My sewing room is a mess. It always suffers after a class in which eager children yank fabric off the shelves, and chop it willy nilly. Last week was especially exuberant with the creation of silky tiger pajamas, and a sheath for a sword. But those episodes are rectified in twenty minutes of folding, and scooping up buttons. Then a quick vacuum and the space is welcoming again. 

But lately I have been crafting three quilts from a grandmother's clothes, and the sheer volume of colorful fabric looks like a parade. My focus was on piecing, and I eased up on tidying. Hence the piles. 

Students will be back soon, and deserve to be able to walk across the floor without doing the long jump. So today must include giving my attention to reclaiming the room.

It is a reasonable cycle, really. The presence of other people we care about can be the impetus we need to shape up. Maybe I would do it anyway, but maybe not. Curbing my temper for the benefit of our family is a legitimate ambition. Trying to mitigate the effects of aging is in part a way to avoid being a burden to my kids. 

The secret ingredient though is that cleaning up my act benefits me too. I consider it God math. All pluses, no minuses.